Sorcera Descent
by Mockingtale
Summary: Tasked with the murder of the Queen, Len gets caught in a secret war between the sorcerers and the Church. In the medieval world of Cryptonia, where there is a secret world beneath the streets and magic wars with worship, this war dredges up his own past he prefers to keep silent. [hiatus]
1. Prologue: Game Set

**Prologue**

_**Game Set**_

**A/N: Man, when I wrote this I was like 'NO OCs' because I thought Vocaloid had so many characters so why not use them all. But they were not kidding about the male/female ratio. I thought it would be fun to keep to the original idea of no OCs, but in order to avoid getting this story run over by females, I had to extend the search for males from VOCALOID to UTAUloids to Utaite. Who knew it would be so hard to find guys? **

**But I think the effort paid off, so have fun guessing who's who!**

**Rated T for violence, swearing and mild sexual implications.**

* * *

**~0~0~0~0~0*~*0~0~0~0*~*0~0~0~0~0~**

_**part I : To Black **_

In a large, cavernous chamber, bricked with dark stones of a multitude of mysterious colours, only a handful of small candles shone. The rest was devoured in inky shadow, black and grey melting into purple and a touch of orange. Where the candles burned in their iron brackets, their light that touched the stones turned iridescent— a strange glimmer.

"They're getting stronger."

Figures sat around a large round table; naught but their silhouettes showed, silky penumbras blending with the shimmering violets and cobalts of the chamber. There was a smell of dampness and mustiness, a hint that they were underground. Somewhere in a corner, water dripped a steady tempo that echoed around the walls.

"They will not overpower us." A woman replied calmly. Her voice had a very womanly, oceanic timbre, as fine as matured wine and it echoed magisterially around the dark chamber.

Immediately, as if bursting to reveal it, a young, shrill voice cut in. "Such confidence! But if the Church receives the endorsement of Cryptonia's royalty, we are all _doomed!_" The statement was punctuated with two palms hitting the table surface heavily, the small speaker's zeal palpable in the thick air. A blood-red corkscrew curl flashed in the glow of candlelight before vanishing back into umbra. Her impatience and anxiety were tangible, but another speaker spoke.

"Calm down, _child_," a male voice hissed in, as lacerating as venom. The air mutated and contused as magic wove in, both hostile and angry, like violent fireworks perceived behind tightly shut eyes, both dived towards each other into a scalding strife—

"Enough, _children_."

The speaker who opened spoke, his voice deep and mesmeric, as luxurious as black velvet and as smooth as mirror and onyx. His voice carried authority and magnetism, and immediately, all movement stilled. The hot magic dissipated, reverting back to its original, dark cool wetness. All the figures around the table were on edge, ready to listen to him.

"The King knows it is important to remain neutral in this invisible war, but it is the King's utmost duty to support his people, and his people—" the figure lounged against his seat lazily, his silhouette portraying power and ease. "— support the Church."

With those words, the small speaker with the shrill voice snarled in displeasure, and the mood of the room rose accordingly in response to the dark speaker's words. Anger and vexation coloured the atmosphere as panic touched it.

A soft voice spoke out against the discontent, as gentle and feminine as fresh lilies in water. "There is nothing we can do to change that. If the people support the Church, than there is no more room for us in Cryptonia." She tilted her exceedingly fair head, and a flash of white hair caught the candlelight before disappearing back delicately into shadow.

"The sorcerers must move."

"_Move?!_" The small, irascible speaker exclaimed shrilly. "Do not be ridiculous, we have been here longer than the Church. This is _our _place!"

"Quiet, and show your older more respect," the dark speaker spoke smoothly, his voice richer than blackcurrant. Threat and warning danced like poison at the edges of his tone, and the small speaker retreated back immediately, soundly rebuked.

"She is right," a new, silvery voice spoke. This one sounded as light as the wind and as melodious as a silver bell. "We sorcerers have been here for centuries, even before the dawn of Cryptonia, and have we not supported its rise even through the darkest times? We will stay."

Her conclusion, though airily stated, was firm with finality. It resounded throughout the chamber and sparked a new, zealous flame. All the figures straightened, and the collective emotion shifted to one of iron-clad consensus.

They would stay.

"Very well," the dark speaker drawled, although amusement sifted in between like sand. "We will not retreat from the advances of the Church. But even if it comes to war…?"

"Then war."

The woman with the oceanic timbre spoke, but this time in a low whisper. It transitioned however, to a barely suppressed black fury. "We are being burned like common firewood by the Church, courtesy of the Duchess Saint. If you say we are doomed if royalty supports the Church, than we are doomed already if King Leon has chosen to stand idly by."

"Leverage then," the voice as light as air responded crisply. Grimness hung off her tone like stalactites and she shifted forwards to lay two fair hands on the table. "To keep the King… _ideally _neutral."

The male voice who quarrelled earlier spoke, his voice as dry and sharp as searing acid. "The Green Queen." All heads turned to him, piqued with slight interest. "Ever since the lady Queen Sonika has passed, they have taken to calling the Princess the Green Queen. Princess Miku can be our leverage—"

"Kidnap?" The second speaker interrupted, echoing the young man's implication. The ocean breeze was in her lush timbre. "There will be outrage in the streets."

"Which will be exactly why there will be no outrage," the male replied back tartly, severely displeased at being interrupted. Malice poured like shards of knives and venom from his words. "The royalty will keep it silent—"

"_Fool_," the red-haired small speaker cut in brashly, her temper ignited. "They will tell the Church if the Green Queen is missing. The Lord Pope will unleash his lady Duchess _Saint_," she spat the name out like sewage filth, "and they will conduct more burnings than ever!"

All chance of escalation was cut short when a new, stern woman's voice interrupted. "Demons take the both of you." Briskness and terseness coloured her silhouette where she sat, and her back was ramrod straight. "We cannot afford to fall apart with our enemy at the door."

The two silhouettes paused and looked at her, their youth shown in the lack of the same grace displayed by their more experienced elders. At their hesitation, magic flared from several of the sitting silhouettes— a warning, or a chide. In the millennia old practice of sorcery, age and power has always been the utmost marker of wisdom.

And all children must respect their elders.

The two impetuous speakers finally drew back, settling against the backs of their chairs. The woman's head shifted and she turned to face the dark speaker.

"I think it is clear what we need to do now."

**~*-0-*~**

_**part II : To White **_

A man sat on a white throne gilded with elaborate gold. Light poured out from him, each ray harsh and rumoured to be gentler than a mother's chaste kiss to the believer— or more scorching than the violent sun to the dissenter. This man sat beneath the feet of God.

As he stood up, he walked slowly towards the full wall glass window behind his bright throne. The room he was in was voluminous, the ceiling rising high into the depths of shadow, and adorned with the murals of masters. As high as the ceiling was, the size of the room was huge as well, and the glass spanned the entire length of it. Everything was painted in white and cream, embellished with reliefs that wove intricately on the walls. It was airy, but splendidly grandiose.

Outside, the sun was sinking, throwing lilac and vermillion across the greying skies like a final reach and spreading clouds across like thin webs. He stood, alone, with the dying rays on his face and his hands behind his back. Behind him, his white robes trailed and caught the light.

"It's a disaster, unmitigated disaster!"

"No, wrong, wrong, wrong! It is not! Win, we will definitely win!

Those two had been bickering ever since the start.

"But come out on top? Ridiculous! Their darkness has been ingrained like a scar ever since the start!"

The two twin sisters, each young in their late teens with dark yellow hair. They were slender and svelte, like gymnasts. Arguing back and forth, their voices were quick and high, like violin screeches, but they had elvish, pretty, child-like faces. One had short, spiky hair, kept in place with a magenta hairband. Likewise, her twin wore a hairband, her long hair curling around her in a long ponytail and reaching her thighs where the ends were dulled with a pale pink. The short-haired one wore a white waistcoat while her longer-haired sister wore black.

The younger one with the short hair had a curious tendency to repeat words three times. The older, one may say, was pessimistic about situations.

"That is why we must cleanse them with fire, burn deep, deep, deep!"

"Power, more power! We must get King Leon on our side, but how?"

"Silence," the man's voice was quiet, but it carried far like a justice's hammer. He continued to watch the scenery unfold outside, while the two twin sisters flinched and drew back in fear, silence catching them as they watched him warily

Before plunging into their argument again, unfettered.

"We have the support of the people! All that is left is to flush them out, flush out the devil practitioners! Flush, flush, flush!"

"No, no, it's more complicated than that! They have been here too long. Impossible, impossible!"

At the window, the man simply waved, and like well-trained dogs, or perhaps compelled by some strange power, the two moved with perfect synchronicity, and although they still bickered, their heads turned at the same angle, the same time, took the same step at the same tempo, and left the large room, their voices dissolving away.

From the corner, through a largely hidden doorway, a man walked in, cloaked in bright pink and silver, colourful yellow edging his coat and scarf. His flaxen hair was pale, but his face was youthful and innocent in a pure, untouched way. He stood before the man at the window and kneeled, aware of the man's divinity and his intense, purifying light pouring into every pore of his own being, cleansing and blessing. Blinding.

"My Lord Pope," he said, his voice soft and almost emasculate. "Do you have need of my services?"

The man clothed in dazzling bright white spoke. "I understand your two… _brothers _are still in contact with you, even though they have deigned to refuse your offer of redemption. I believe they have sided with the sorcerers."

The young man— boy, really, paused. "Yes," he replied hesitantly after a moment. It was a dangerous question that required a cautious answer, but for some reason, the Lord Pope's voice was devoid of that usual, ringing judgement. Instead, it was muted and soft, ungentle but merciful.

The boy would keep honest. "We continue to speak because the Lord Pope has said that familial traditions are to be treasured above the rarest rubies, although one of my brothers is still…" the boy trailed off, not knowing how to continue. The proper words missed his tongue and his eyes dared not peer to closely into that blinding light.

The man however, dismissed the topic quickly. Outside, the sun had drowned deep within the blue pits of the night, although a few of its rays still remained, beaming out as its light was slowly snuffed out. The stars took centre stage, watched by and outshined by the white, luminescent moon. "And where is my lady Duchess Saint?"

Ah, the Church's yellow, blazing sun. If the Lord Pope was the holy Judge who sat at God's feet and wielded His gavel and block then the Duchess Saint was the Lord Pope's Sword and Shield.

"At the Monarch Palace, my lord," the boy said respectfully. Monarch Palace was the house of the King, and its many windows crafted out of fine crystal threw a spectrum of colours when the light shone through. "She seeks to persuade the King to gift us his Seal."

At that, something akin to dry amusement appeared in the man's tone. "I expect she's on the verge of nothing short of violence."

At that, the boy said nothing, unsure how to respond. The Duchess Saint's temper was legendary.

A petite figure appeared behind the boy, her gown rustling as she moved. Like a delicate dancer through a field of grass, her features were as delicate as her soft, timid, piano-key voice. "My Lord Pope," she curtsied before kneeling next to the boy. She looked to be about the same age as him, but her thick hair was a very pale, almost platinum, diluted with watercolours of the various stages of the sky: bright blue, indigo, vibrant orange, pale green and egg yolk yellow. Two dainty earrings dangled next to her porcelain face, which was inset with eyes of equal, dark yellow.

"My Lord Pope, your loyal servant is here." Her dress was all dark, bows and lace, and a small black cap adorned with a red bow sat on her little head.

"Ah, my sweet girl." The man still look past the window, acknowledging his subjects only through his voice. He never moved once, with his hand still behind his back. Now that night had settled, the giant throne room turned into chamber of shadow and moonlight patches. The man's loyal servants were still colourful and bright, even without the light to aid in their glow. With the advent of nightfall, the torches should have been set alight and put to burning merrily in their brackets, but permission had not been given to the servants to enter.

The blackness of the night made the glass a mirror, and the Lord Pope's face was finally reflected back to his followers.

"Tell me, the both of you. What limits would hold you back from accomplishing our Great Mission?"

"None, my lord." The both of them answered together, without any hesitation.

"We would do anything for you. Your believers will do whatever it takes."

**~*-0-*~**

_**part III : To Knight **_

A couple walked alone in the night, accompanied only by the easy bustle of the night-time vendors. The moon was a bright, silver coin in the sky, a picturesque circle of white light against a clear, blue ink sky, rivalled only by the earthbound flames dancing in their melded cages of iron and glass.

Lampposts lined the broad, cobblestone street, occupied by late-night stragglers and cart pushers. It reflected a world with two faces: in daytime, a bustling, merry street bursting with a myriad of wondrous colours, sounds and smells; but come nighttime, blackness and a hushed silence stole through every crevice and bled every secret that night had to bear.

The gentleman, smiled and twirled his darling lady around, watching her ebony locks splay like autumns leaves in the chilly air. She laughed, clearly drunk, and latched onto his chest while her pretty, dark-skinned face titled upwards, her eyes dreamy.

"Tell me you love me," she demanded, her voice slightly slurred and heady. She was a very pretty, common thing, with dark hair like a rippling sheet of silk and skin like mocha chocolate. What stood out were her lovely, large pair of grey eyes that were as soft as a fog. Her companion smiled down at her and brought his thumb and index finger to her chin.

"I love you," he said easily, his voice lower than his age suggested, and smoother than a storm. He was a tall, lean man, with slender but sculpted muscles and a built like a predatory panther, but his hair was the color of sunbeams and kept at his nape in a short ponytail. The man had bright eyes of watery blue, each like a shimmering pale marble. He tucked a loose ebony lock behind the lady's ear.

The lady smiled.

Around them, night dwindled past midnight, and into the lonely, dark hours of the morning.

"Lola," she said softly. The young man looked into her eyes again. No, he decided, they were not as soft as a grey fog, they shone like the stars. "My name is Lola."

"Lola," he nodded, his eyes gentle and kind. She stumbled and clutched onto him for support, the strength seeping out of her limbs and drained out. Cold bled in, coldness and weariness that made her sigh deeply. It dug into her bones like a cancer, and wove freezing tendrils around her heart— but with it came of sort of comfort borne only out of resignation. She smiled serenely, her eyes glazed and staring dreamily at the stars.

The poison was taking effect. She was dying.

The young man stopped and slowly lowered her head gently to the floor. Her ebony locks spilled like black water to the cobblestone floor, and her dress tangled around her legs like a gossamer web. A lovely sight marred by the sickness that stole over her dark skin and grey eyes.

But she still smiled.

"Tell me your name," her voice was barely a whisper, weak, a thin cobweb strand about to break. The young man kneeled down and gently moved her hair away from her face. She looked from the sky to him, and a single tear streaked down her face.

"I want to know the name of the man that killed me."

The young man's face was muted and solemn, but he held her hands and said nothing. Lola stared at him for a moment, the chill reaching her lips and turning them white and feeble. Her grey eyes finally shifted upwards to the inky sky, where her gaze melted with the moon.

"No one has ever told me they loved me before," she whispered, so _so _tired. "Thank you."

Her eyes finally closed, just as a chilly breeze blew past. It ruffled the young man's sunbeam hair as he rose slowly, slightly apologetic. In the morning, the street vendors will find the lovely scene of a sad, sad girl dead on the street, her ebony hair like ripples of water on the dirty cobblestones. They will bring her body to the gravediggers, not to the police, because she will be recognised as Lola, a common whore who rumours say was bearing the bastard child of a rich merchant's married son, and so she means nothing.

Len walked down the dark street, each booted foot as silent as a shadow, but his bright hair caught the moon's borrowed light and shone like molten gold. He shrugged his hood on and never looked back.

All in a day's work.

* * *

**A/N: I really hoped you enjoyed it. I'm really new to the fandom and this is my first Vocaloid story. I haven't decided the pairings so I'm putting it up to a vote! Please review! It really makes my day :)**

**Len X Miku**

**Len X Rin**

**Miku X Kaito**


	2. A Play for Knight Forward

**A/N:** Hi once again! Thanks to** iloveyugiohGX93, Kaleidoscopic Dragon, Akane L.M.S, japaneserockergirl, Ushinatta Neko, BlackStar01451, Awesome D.T** and the mysterious **guest** for reviewing!

Special kudos to **whimsyappletea** for her intro into this fandom, and for awesomely taking the time to beta the whole thing.

**Oh wow. This was actually a pain to get out, really. Really really really. Anyway, I never expected Sorcera Descent to get the response it did. I really did not. So, thank you so much for all your reviews and support! I really find the critiques super helpful, and I'm trying to find a balance in my writing. So thank you once again!**

* * *

**NOTE: I will not do this again. But this story is rated T for swearing, mature themes and sexual implication/situations. **

* * *

**Chapter - 1**

_**A Play for Knight Forward**_

_"How dreadful...to be caught up in a game and have no idea of the rules."_

_― Caroline Stevermer_

* * *

The girl giggled as the young man wrapped the chiffon scarf around her, the material soft and thin, which was what made it so exceptionally luxurious in the first place. The silky film was translucent between her dainty fingers and made the world a dreamy matte coral as she held it up and peered at his face through it.

"Oh," she sighed, euphoric. "Kiri, it's perfect. It's so _soft_." The male smiled, a quick ease along his lips that impressed roguishness and capability. He was young, on the cusp of matured adulthood, but his built was sinewy and striking— rippling, slender muscles like a panther always on the edge of lunging. She took his face in her small, white hands, feeling chiseled cheekbones and wisps of his sunbeam hair tangled in between her fingers. Smiling brightly, she said, "Oh, thank you."

She kissed him on the lips, a very girlish flutter characterised by her delicate, plush mouth pressing chastely on his. The young man had other ideas though, and he quirked his own mouth and pressed harder, slanting her face as he stole a deeper kiss. Suddenly flustered, the girl shifted in surprise, and her cheeks turned darker than the light pink of her chiffon scarf. Finally being released, she pulled back, and the young man smiled when he saw that her face was now a deep shade of plum.

The girl looked down shyly, long lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. "I- I need to go now Kiri," she peered up hopefully at his face, her eyes large and doll-like. "Will I see you again?"

"Of course, love," the young man touched her chin, and the girl hesitantly turned away to walk down the street, skirts swishing around her feet and shiny hair over her shoulder. The young man watched her disappear. He was an odd figure, a striking silhouette against the backdrop of the market street. Yet at the same time, he blended easily, blurring into a passer-by's subconscious memory.

Hmm.

_"Oh Kiri, it's so soooft. Kiss me, Kiri!"_

The young man's lips turned down in half-amused annoyance. "Oh, shut up, won't you?"

Next to him, a man stepped out from the shadows. What immediately caught the eye were his eyes; the deep wells of endless navy. The man was not much older than himself, even though he was clad in a long, rich coat, projecting wealth and affluence. It was off-white, edged in blue, and from the way it gleamed under the touch of sun, he knew it was rayon.

"_But Kiiiriii—_"

"Very funny," Len shot him a dry look, before his glimmering, pale blue eyes picked over the elaborateness of the man's wear. "Kaito," he started conversationally. "Is the princess going to the ball?"

In return, the man with deep, cobalt hair snorted and looked away. The sun gilded his hair and coat, dark sapphires shaded with mild white and lighter tones of blue. They put yellow light in his eyes, making them glitter. Like this, Len could see how many found him irresistible. There, under the sun with nonchalance in the way he stood and a brimming vault of self-esteem and charisma; a combination of charm, his solid towering build, and the approachable handsomeness of his face had tempted countless females― and dare he say, males?

"Actually Len, the princess is heading back _from_ the ball," Kaito shot at him humorously, deep gaze looking at him through the shade of his blue hair. Len had known Kaito for a very long time; long enough, perhaps, to be called 'friends'. He knew that as dashing as Kaito was now, the man could be anything he wanted, and anything anyone needed him to be. If honey drew in flies, then Kaito's silvered tongue and quick mind drew in victims.

Preferably females. Preferably rich.

Even now, striding alongside him, Len melted into the background like a shadow― a common man, but Kaito attracted eyes like the glint of gems.

"Very pretty," the young man spoke dryly, his voice naturally low and muted. His sunbright hair however, caught the light and blazed like gold fields, and he must have realized this for he pulled his hood over his head, covering all hints to his coloring.

Around them, people bustled and pushed past them. It was two hours to morn and the women and servant staff now swarmed the streets, haggling with vendors for foods. Many waved vivid produce, bartering, some even yelling. This was the Capital's farmers' market, and the scent of rosemary and thyme lingered in the air along with bursts of citrus. People shoved each other, sweat sticking their cotton wear to skin. Looking around, one needed only to spot bright emblems of House Tohoku or Clan Mew to know that their kitchen staff frequented the vendors here. It was a sea of people and faces in their own chaotic motion, but it parted to let Kaito through, and with him, Len.

_Maybe I should start wearing fancy coats during the pre-morning peak hours_, Len thought wryly. Hah, if only. Len knew that he could never capture the bold, swashbuckling image Kaito could project. He was the panther slinking off in moonlight and the inkwells of shadow. This man stood proudly in the sun. _Aristocracy_, it could have been whispered (have been whispered before), but it was his honey tongue that fully served Kaito. That, and the web of lies and half-truths he spun. While Kaito enjoyed charading as wealth, the truth was that he was as equally skilled in switching and spinning up masks that fitted him perfectly.

"Pretty? Who, me? Yes, I believe I'm fabulous. Enough of that, though." The blue-haired man slung an arm around Len's shoulders, much to his irritation. The hooded man muffled it down though, his face blank and smooth. He hated to give Kaito that satisfaction, although a thin smirk had already lifted the side of his mouth.

"So tell me, Len. That Lola girl. How was she like?"

Len did not answer immediately, but when he did, his answer was bland. "She was very pretty. Remove the arm, Kaito, or I'll snap it at the joint."

Lola, the night-whore found on the cobblestone streets with her eyelids veined and cold, both freezing fingers on her womb. The remembrance of imagery nearly brought his heart to a frigid stutter. A feeling he had long grown used to, but could never be numb to. Still, powerful legs eased along the street, silently and carefully― and they did not falter. Len's heart had already been soaked black a long, long time ago.

"Really? They say she was with child." Len did not stop walking, his face and form a perfect veneer of impregnable stoicism, like shadow and stone. But he didn't answer either.

An easy grin on his handsome face, Kaito was about to give a witty remark when the sounds of screaming could be heard. Both men paused, frowned and immediately pushed forward.

Around the entrance to a shophouse, the morning crowds had broken against the opening to form a crescent. People were pushing slightly, whispering and chattering amongst themselves while the screaming of a girl resounded along the street.

As Len and Kaito neared, they saw that the first few rows of people were hushed, almost still. There, on the dirty gravel, a girl thrashed against the iron cage of a guard's arms, her face tear-streaked and filthy. The tears in her dress spoke briefly of how she had been thrown to the ground and cruelly manhandled. Looking around at the crowd, Len could see the anxiety put in their eyes, the worry, and he knew why.

The sigils of the Holy Church. It was embroidered on the guards' finery, and immediately the scene spoke of the girl's doom.

The girl twisted out of the guard's grasp and lurched towards the crowd, crying and pleading in hysteria. But the crowd only backed away in fright and continued watching. She fell to the ground, nails scrabbling against the gravel as the guards dragged her up again and slapped her right across the face.

She gasped and gave a cry, before throwing herself towards the crowd again and begged her innocence. "Please," she shrieked, choking on her violent sobs. "Please!"

"Please, I'm innocent," she pleaded brokenly, reaching out towards some of them searchingly. "I'm _innocent!_"

But they only watched.

Kaito stirred and uncrossed his arms. Already, the fine coat was discarded and now the dark sapphire-haired man was clad in a simple brown jacket, looking for all the world a peculiarly handsome commoner. Switch and spin.

With a cool face, he turned to a nearby spectator. "What happened?"

"Accused of witchcraft," the man replied anxiously, swallowing. His fear lay not in the guards but in the girl herself. Everyone watched her warily. "Remember years ago, when that woman was accused of using magic to seduce the Duke of Night?"

Ah, the Megurine Witch. Kaito nodded, recalling. He was not present, but as the story goes, the woman was put to the stake, her pink hair chopped off by the Duke of Night himself as the city folk gathered. As the flames roared, it seemed she had summoned a powerful spell and vanished in a shower of raven feathers.

"Well," the man continued. "The Church announced this morn that they would step up their searches since then. This one was accused of casting a spell on her neighbour's baby."

Kaito said nothing at first, letting the information sink in. He watched as a guard yank the girl up by her hair, ignoring her flailing and cries. Her eyes shone with terror, and she was screaming herself hoarse. _A pity,_ he mused inwardly, _that she is still ignorant of the fact that hope has long fled her._ "I see," he said after a while, his expression fathomless.

"It'll be the stake for her tonight," Len said quietly, suddenly stepping out of the crowd and sidling up to Kaito's side. Kaito did not even notice his disappearance, and he had no doubt about the fact that he only noticed Len's approach because Len wanted him to. He did not turn to face the hooded man, but his face showed interest. Len continued. "They've already set a timing, and the cross is being put up in the Square as we speak."

Kaito's dark ocean eyes widened in surprise, and he finally turned to look into Len's shadowed face to cement certainty. "So soon? No trial?"

"No trial," the black-hooded man replied firmly. Around them, the crowd had begun to part and make way for the guards as they dragged away the screeching girl. One man gasped and pulled away in fright when the girl strained towards him in plea. "They're scared that she'll have time to cast a spell to escape in a flutter of black feathers, like the other one."

Kaito scoffed, but his eyes were still riveted to the wretched scene in a mixture of horror and fascination. "Well," he said slowly. "Won't the Square be crowded tonight?"

**~*0*~**

Buildings on Kojiki Roji were decrepit, with stubs of brick and wood that sat on a maze of small alleyways and jagged turns that bewildered the casual wanderer. Filth clogged every sewer grate and thickened every wall, and past each corner, chance and luck dictated if your throat would be met with a knife, forced to barter for your life in exchange for coin.

It was home to Len, however, a place to sleep and to rest. The rent was cheap, and secrets were guaranteed by unspoken agreements to be left untouched. He lived in an old, two-storey shophouse, in a dingy room lent for a few coins per week by the landlady, Miriam, and her small son, Piko. As per unsaid rule of residency amongst underworld residents, landlady and tenant asked no questions, and expected no answers. For Len, Miriam would provide meals and a room unless otherwise, and for Miriam, if any unsavoury, unwanted guests bothered mother and child, he or she would be dealt with― quickly and quietly.

Miriam was a quiet though motherly person. Len did not inquire as to her past because he saw no reason to, especially when she did not inquire into his. They rarely interacted, but there was a shared respect, even affection for each other, from a mutual need to keep away from their hidden history. Her son Piko, however, was another thing entirely. He was fair-haired like his mother but loud, easily excitable and always curious. He always pestered Len to play with him, something that was occasionally humoured, but while Piko seemed to have taken a liking to Len, Len preferred to quietly keep away.

Climbing the moulding stairs, each step creaked horrendously, threatening to give way to years of rot. For both occupants landlady and tenant, this was preferable, serving as a rather poor though agreeable alarm system. Of course Len could creep and ease up into the dark, unlit hallway as soundless as a breeze, but it was a way of signaling to Miriam that he was back.

It was now evening, barrelling straight into twilight, and tiny shots of light splayed over the interiors, moving silently as shadows glided. Through the tiny, four-squared window, the white moon rose sinisterly above the shaded buildings outside. Something above on the landing shifted, a flicker in the flow of the air, and immediately, his instincts shot up as did his guard.

"... Piko?"

The little boy was bleary-eyed, one small, curled fist rubbing at his turquoise eyes. He was clad in a pair of white pajamas, a raggedy teddy bear dragged behind by one hand. Len quickly ascended the last few steps and picked up the little boy, all internal alarm bells dimming.

"Piko, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with your mother?" He murmured gently to the boy, who seemed to have just woken up from a nap. The little boy yawned in return and snuggled closer to Len, sleep-tears hanging from his eyelashes and gumming at the corners of his eyes. He blinked slowly, eyelashes fluttering, the tattered teddy bear he clutched to his little form tickled Len's chin inadvertently.

"I was waiting for onii-san," he mumbled sleepily, before resting his head on Len's black-clad shoulder and drifting off to slumber again.

Len sighed and gently tugged away the annoying toy, tucking the boy's head under his chin as he entered the kitchen where he knew Miriam was.

The kitchen consisted of a stove and two cupboards, and to name it a room would be an overstatement. It was merely a crevice in the wall, brightened by an oil lamp placed on the stove. The shophouse he lived in was cramped and terribly unlit, but at least clean and livable. Miriam stood in the narrow space, pale hair in a tight braid over her shoulder and a large shawl over her dress. She glanced up, eyes immediately jumping to her son's face and ascertaining his state. Miriam nodded minutely in thanks and jerked her head at the pot she was currently stirring in, silently signaling that dinner would be ready soon.

Len nodded and turned, entering the bedroom where mother and son slept before placing Piko on the bedcovers. The little boy's head lolled to the side and Len silently tucked his favourite teddy bear into his small arms. Taking one last look, he quickly left to retreat to his own room.

"Len."

A quiet but stern voice halted him in his tracks. He turned to face Miriam, standing in the too-narrow hallway, its peeling wallpaper forming a bizarre frame of dried glue and petals. He guessed that she would have been extremely pretty once, but motherhood and time had put wrinkles on her forehead and a sort of weariness to her eyes. Still, one needed only look at her unflinching posture to recognize her uprightness and assertiveness. It was something he liked about Miriam. She was a good person.

He faced her, emotionless, and Miriam faced him with her own brand of non-emotion. In another life, Len fancied, she could have been his older sister, or even his mother.

"Something wrong, Miriam?"

She wasted no time in putting things bluntly. "Men are looking for you."

At that, Len fell silent, his face unperturbed in his stillness. "I see," he said after a while, although his air contradicted the calmness in his tone. Looking into the face of the woman he had lived with for three years, he saw the years behind her, her love for her son.

And a deep sense of mistrust. He could not deny that his heart sank a little.

"Would you like me to leave, Miriam?"

It was a courteous question. Three years with Len had given her a brief notion as to his occupation; one without its lack of enemies. If he continued to stay, she and her son could be victims of a grudge they did not even know existed. Before she even opened her mouth, Len already knew her answer, but his smile was oddly soft and kind.

Her answer was brief and to the point as she turned away.

"Yes."

_Heartless_, Len chuckled inwardly, but he beared no ill will. He bowed to her retreating figure and proceeded to his room.

_Men are looking for you._

Well, shit. He wondered if they would chase him forever. Kaito had once casually called him a prisoner and pathetic. A predator who had become prey. He ignored the sinking feeling in his heart at the thought of running again as he pushed open his door.

Instantly, he stopped, and his eyes narrowed. There, bathed in moonlight, no doubt carefully arranged, lay a woman in his bed. Naked and covered by a thin sheet.

The woman shifted languidly, her eyes hooded and lips curved into a wickedly seductive smile. Yellow hair slid down her shoulders like water, tendrils catching in her eyelashes as they shaded her pretty, sharp face. Everything about her features was razor-bladed, from the glint in her eyes to the edge of her smile. She moved and the sheet slid dangerously down her well-formed chest.

Sighing, he closed the door and entered his room, pale shimmering eyes roaming appreciatively over the curves and dips of her body, particularly lingering over her cleavage and the softness of her breasts. Now, in the night, he had turned predatory, the hidden power corded in his muscles; always on the verge of lunging, watching, analyzing. He surveyed her, and his gaze settled on her neck. Idly, he remembered his teeth sinking into the white skin of her throat, his hands squeezing those delightful breasts while she moaned needily.

Now, he wondered what sounds she would make if he plunged cold steel in the area between her eyes.

Len casually draped himself over a chair and faced her, his smile knife-edged and dangerously friendly, chair back between his black-clad legs. The woman moved, her grin coy and poisonous as the sheet now hitched higher and higher up her legs, moving well towards her shapely thighs. In response, he settled one long, calloused finger on her ankle and stroked it.

"Hello, Lily," he said cheerily, as if he were a customer greeting a market vendor. The finger slid languorously up her shin, teasingly edging towards the sensitive underside of her knee.

"Len," she whispered. Literally soaking in the moon's glow, the silvershine streamed through the small window, making her skin glow and her dull yellow hair shine. However, as it glided across her face, it caught in her eyes and made them glint. Cunning. Insatiable. Those were the first words that came to mind when something not unlike mania swirled within her blue depths. Mildly unhinged, Len had once put it. Maybe it was that crazed energy that made fucking her the first time extremely pleasurable.

She was fun.

Now that finger found itself stroking the tender underside of her knee leisurely, as Len tilted his head to the side. His eyes glittered like the sun at the bottom of a clear pool, but they were sharp and grappled onto her gaze like hooks in flesh.

"How can I help you?"

Her grin stretched, as if to say, _you can move your finger up higher and into me_. Len's own smile widened, highly amused. He decided to decline, although he did compromise by feathering his hand up her thigh, smoothing over her skin and leaving goosebumps in the wake of his sly fingers. Her breath hitched, and the glint in her eyes cut into him hotly.

"I want you," she breathed, finally sitting up. Her white teeth flashed in the moonlight as her grin widened hungrily. "To kill someone for me."

The questing hand vanished immediately from her thigh and settled nonchalantly on top of the chair's wooden back. He looked at her, face unconcerned, but the way his pale, sharp eyes flickered over her told Lily that he was analyzing her― a predator watching a foolish prey. She bared her teeth in both lust-intoxicated excitement and the challenge he presented her.

"Curious. Who?"

Lily did not hesitate as she rose up, her face on the same level as his. The sheet fell away from her chest, unembarrassed, but Len's eyes were still cool on her face. She smiled almost animalistically; teeth sharp, eager, expecting.

"The Green Queen."

At that, there was a pause to his movements. Soon however, slowly, lazily, he eased powerful muscles over her. First, his legs crowned hers, black cloth smooth over her naked skin as he comfortably shifted from the chair to on top of her. With her literally between his knees, Lily dropped back against the pillow, her long yellow hair splaying out as she giggled playfully, drunk on a high.

As for Len, the moonlight gilded his cheekbones and turned his sunbright hair ashen, making his pale blue eyes shimmer all the more mysteriously. His lean muscles rolled as he slowly lowered himself over Lily's prone form, unbridled power in his strong arms as they caged her soft body. His chapped lips hovered less than an inch over hers, and pale blue eyes seared into her own. A tolerant, barely perceptible smile still played around his mouth, but it was false.

"Hmm." One calloused finger caressed her collarbone, and Lily closed her eyes, tilting her head back. Len smiled, still humouring her. "And what's in it for me?"

With her eyes still closed, a serene smile spread like a disease across her face. "A new identity and a safe passage to Internatico," she almost sighed.

Lower―rough fingers now teased the skin between her breasts. "And why would I want that?"

"So you'll never have to run away from _them_ again."

Instantaneously, those sly hands ripped away from her body and flew around her throat. Coolly, his twin thumbs pressed against her larynx. Lily's eyes flew open and stared into a face that showed no exertion, only a blank slate of mercurial iciness. Len's thumbs threatened to plunge into her throat like chopsticks stabbing velum, and inwardly, she marveled at the strength he appeared to possess for him perform that so easily.

A cackle burst from her squeezed throat, and her fingers instinctively jumped to his hands to tug at his fingers. They were like steel, and her attempts had no effect. Meanwhile, his thumbs pressed lower… harder. She gargled and flailed her arms at him, but in her pretty eyes, Len could see the mania, the adrenaline high she was getting from this.

"Say, Lily," Len said casually over her cut-off gasps and retches. Her nails dug into the flesh of his hand, but he felt no pain. Idly, he knew that he needed only to increase the pressure by a smidge, and fun Lily's throat would cave in like cake.

"How did you know about my little situation?"

"I- I-" Saliva leaked from her mouth as she choked for air, but her mad, high-induced smile was still on her lips. He watched with disgust as the liquid tracked down her cheek and onto his bedsheets.

Suddenly, something hummed, whirring closer to his ear. He immediately dodged the white, glowing hand. In barely a second, he had ripped a steel blade from his belt and it was now only a breeze's pressure away from slicing into her throat.

Now sitting upright, Len's outstretched arm held a serrated knife to replace where his thumbs had been. She was still trapped between the iron weight of his black-clad thighs, but while one hand was still on his fingers around her neck, her left hand was outstretched, upright and loose. It was whining with high-pitched frequency and glowed a harsh white, now dimming as the magic cooled.

"I've never killed a Flowers witch before." Len said, almost amused, his naturally low voice smooth and wry. He did not even look perturbed.

Gulping for air, Lily's body rushed to take in the cool air of the night while she laughed, her body arching as she gasped and cackled at the same time. Her yellow hair shook with the force and was becoming rumpled and messy. Next to her, the sheet that once covered her body lay on the bed, now meaningless.

"Oh,_ Len_," she wheezed. Her tossing had caused the blade to slice the outer epidermis of her neck, causing blood to trickle between her breasts, yet she did not seem to care.

"Len, Len, _Len_," she purred. Her eyes were hooded, eyelids half drawn over her blue eyes. Still, she could never completely hide the traces of mania in them.

"Let skeletons sleep longer in their closets, why won't you?"

At that, the knife dug deeper into her throat, and the blood rivulets turned into a crimson streamlet that ran faster down her neck. Len leaned towards her, close enough for his mouth to brush against hers.

"Get out."

He said it so softly, so quietly that Lily almost did not hear it. But she did, and at that, the mania burst from her in a fit of giggles, sparkled in her blue eyes and in the nearly mad twist of her mouth.

"_Len_. They're coming for you," she whispered hotly, earnestly, as the craziness danced in her eyes. "How long can you keep running, Len? It's been _years._ How long can you escape punishment _for what you've done?_"

The serrated blade vanished and reappeared to slash savagely across her face, splattering blood on the sheets and the adjacent wall, dripping into her long locks and over her soft body. Before she could shriek and clutch at her face, she found the blood-soaked blade caught between her teeth, muffling her cry. The sharp, bitter-tasting metal was wet with her own blood, scraping against her teeth. Her lips slipped and cut on the blade, and soon the copper-tasting fluid seeped into her mouth and poured down her throat. Lily coughed.

"I believe I said it once," Len said calmly, although now his temper was obviously lost and that strained veneer was shuttered over his core to rein it in. "Get out."

Carefully, she pried open her mouth and the blade withdrew. Raising her hand, magic blossomed, a cool yellow light, and she pressed it to her face. Instantly, the ugly red slash across her face sealed itself, leaving only dried blood on her fair skin and the liquid trickling past her lips. Len leaned back against his chair and cleaned his blade coolly, but his muscles were stiff and his eyes were sharp and hawkish. There was no remorse in his eyes over the injury inflicted, only a cold lack of mercy. Besides, she was from the Sisterhood of Flowers, and their members know little pain and great healing.

Lily shifted and set her naked feet on the ground. Although now the mania in her eyes was tempered with anger and contempt, she still grinned her wide, mad grin. Danger. It soaked in her blood and she lapped it up like ambrosia. Len scoffed inwardly. An adrenaline junkie.

"I believe you sparing my life means you'll think about it," Lily said coyly, her voice an almost purr. Standing up fully naked in his cramped bedroom, the moonlight showed her flawless body in its full glory. A part of him wished she could stay for a repeat of those few nights years ago. She may have pissed him off, but that did not mean he could not enjoy a little show.

To his chagrin, she seemed to know this, because she leaned towards him and gave him a nice view, before snatching up her tossed dress off the floor and slipping into it. Len ignored it, but his temper still glittered dangerously in his eyes and the threat of the blade in his hands.

"Don't disturb Miriam or Piko," he snapped at her retreating back. In response, she laughed a little and vanished.

Finally, alone. Len got up from his chair. The crisp night air breezed over him and settled the heat from the earlier encounter. The temperature cooled as he let night well over him, the moonlight streaming in. Walking slowly to his bedside drawers, he ignored the smear of blood and the tiny red splatters on the torn wallpaper. Opening the second drawer, he popped open a hidden compartment, slumping tiredly against the wall and sliding to the floor.

There, twined between his fingers fluttered an old, old white ribbon, tattered and stained. It looked like something off a child's white dress― or perhaps a white bow for a child's hair?

He could still remember her pained cries.

_How long can you escape punishment for what you've done?_

* * *

**A/N:** **Here's the vote results, and the vote is STILL OPEN!**

**Len X Miku:** 4

**Len X Rin:** 3

**Kaito X Miku:** 3

**WOW. Lenku is currently the hottest right now, huh? I was kinda expecting a Lenrin. Also, my bio now has a section for statuses of stories… if people are like 'what are you doing Mockingtale?' Ah-hah. *falls***

**Alright! So what do you think of Lily? She may come across as slutty but I'm trying to make her really bold, provocative and a teeny tiny cray cray. Her design just strikes me as that. Tell me what you think in the comments, and if you have suggestions on how I can improve, or even suggestions on how this story progresses, feel free to tell me! :)**


	3. The Seat of Martyrdom

**visit writingdeskforravens on tumblr. (Add /sorceracharacters after com) **for a list of characters (for Ushinatta Neko! :D)

**ATTENTION: I've opened a vocaloid blog on tumblr**. It's **vocalstation **if you're interested XD It's really really new.

I've been talking to some people and reading some articles about improving my writing. I'd like to thank all who have reviewed (and all who have helped!). I'm so so sorry I haven't been replying to reviews lately but I hope I can do so now that life has settled (a little). It's been a long time since the previous update huh? I was not joking when I said I didn't expect any response for this story… and so I've been planning what to write lately…

...I can feel the glares ^^"

So yep, from the next chapter (not this one, because this took me literal months and one big writing block to complete) onwards, I am trying something subtly new. Hopefully I won't relapse back into verbigeration.

For those who have not yet voted, I am so sorry but Rin will not come up until in much later chapters. This vote is like a fanservice thing .

Thanks to **whimsyappletea** for beta-ing! **And thank you _thank you thank you_, for every single one of you who has beta-ed and read this. Really, thank you so much.**

* * *

_Recap: Len is offered freedom and a chance for a new life in Internaticco by Lily, a witch from the Sisterhood of Flowers. The price? The murder of the Crown Princess, the Green Queen. _

_Meanwhile, the Church's authority and influence expands._

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_**The Seat of Martyrdom **_

"_We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be."_

― _Kurt Vonnegut__, __Mother Night_

* * *

Hydrangea woven with fairy lanterns garlanded the landscape. It was a lovely, lush place, where tall willow trees swayed in the soft breeze and circled in a deciduous fairy ring around a small clearing. Overhanging leaves fell above them, like draperies of silken green that sometimes detached to flutter in the air, twirling in some transient dance before landing on the ground like evergreen snow.

The frame of this ephemeral scene was made somewhat chimerical by the setting of luxurious afternoon tea; a clothed table whereby piled upon was an assortment of carefully sculpted sugared treats; iced or candied with exotic confectionery. They were arranged in artisanal tower creations; strawberries gluttonously submerged in milk cream, angel cake flavoured blueberry gowned in chocolate.

A pale, small hand surreptitiously dabbed at the corner of a pale mouth before hurriedly vanishing beneath the table. The girl who sat on one end was small in stature, her form thin and slender while a soft waterfall of glistening seaweed hair tumbled over her shoulders in gentle waves. It framed a sharp, oval face; more pallid than fair― but not luridly so, and inset were large, round eyes of mercurial grey.

She expressed hesitance in her posture, and there was nervous apprehension as her strange grey gaze flicked occasionally to her opposing companion: amber eyes wreathed with ashen lashes, while platinum hair ran down her back, washed with watercolors. Her companion had a small, childish face, and was more a young girl than a young woman– clad in a black, ornate dress, and a frilly black cap perched coquettishly on the side of her head. The younger girl looked almost akin to a beautiful, vintage doll, with her expressions fossilized as one.

Miku fidgeted, peering from beneath her eyelashes as her long fingers toyed anxiously with the table cloth. Mayu hooked a gloved finger around the handle of fine china and brought the rim to her lips, flickering her eyes upwards at the same time.

Miku quickly looked downwards at her own plate.

It had occurred to her the utter irony of the situation, the bare ludicrosity of it. Yet a pin-prick of pain shot through her heart at the remembrance of bitter memory. Something foul lingered on the texture of her lips: _Why?_

She furrowed her eyebrows and finally looked up, reigning in her scattered courage and willing up an iron resolve. She was ready to confront her, to fling a betrayed arm out at the evidence of stretched time, the pile of unanswered letters, unfounded rumors and―

_A burning manor_.

Miku's mercury grey eyes met the dark yolk of Mayu's own, and at the sight of a sudden, small, tentative smile on that assumed ossified face, she felt her own obduracy fall like felled trees in a hollow grove.

_How could she even think of asking?_

She removed her fiddling hands from beneath the table and placed it on the cloth surface, leaning forward and now sincerely returning the unsure smile with one of her own. It was warm and filled with her own unique brand of kindness; eager for reconciliation and a chance to go back to the old days of their childhood. Before that... _unfortunate _accident happened.

"How have you been, Mayu?" She started first, as she always used to; the initiator, the instigator, the earnest best friend. Like before, playing in this very garden when the willow trees were not yet grown, they prowled amongst the bougainvilleas and Miku scattered daisy chains in her beautiful, rainbow-platinum hair.

Except now the question was nine years too late. Something stony and cold rolled over the dull yellow copper of her fair-haired friend's eyes as the small smile slipped away like a cut.

"Please, your majesty, I much prefer _Lady_ Mayu," she spoke, her voice a cool lilt of piano keys. Her friend used to be timid― painfully shy, but always uncertainly peering upwards with a nervous, innocent smile. Now elegance and high-grace seemed to storify a little, beautiful porcelain doll-girl who moved with poise and acted with experience. It made Miku abruptly aware of the differences between them. She twisted the ring on her left ring finger. Miku was her elder by two years, but less mature, less worldly, less―

_She grinned out at the sunset, and laughed before grabbing her friend by the shoulders. "We'll see the world together one day! Promise me!"_

"I- I see," she faltered, cowed, her own large eyes downcast. The Green Queen herself was lovely. Her grey eyes contrasted against the rest of her oceanic dark, a starlight-house looking out from sea glass gilded with aquamarine. Her hair pooled in the crevices of her dark, navy chiffon dress, and the sharp angles of her visage promised a haunting beauty with maturity. Youth and naivete, however, showed in the openness of her face.

Her long fingers stroked the iridescent ring that circled her left ring finger; the only hint of adultness within the image of the ingénue. It gleamed strangely in sunlight, and morphed within the range of scarlet to olive, cobalt and indigo. The metal sprung like a natural formation, zig-zagging into quadrangles around her finger.

_Lady _Mayu? Whatever happened to the days of Mayu-_chan_? Miku had been the one who laughed the loudest, but Mayu tagged along timidly anyway, her arms wrapped securely around her much beloved stuffed rabbit. Miku wanted to jump, to wring her hands and bring her fingers to Mayu's frozen face. What happened? _What happened_?

There was a rustle of cream batiste by her side, and Miku glanced up to meet the small, smiling face of her handmaiden.

Aria's eyes were kind as she gently took Miku's cup from its saucer and filled it with Wuyi oolong tea. Her bleached strawberry hair fell over her shoulder like gossamer, while her wild braids framed her cherubic face. Miku flashed her own little smile, momentarily comforted, before Aria retreated to her position behind with her head bowed.

Her own hands crumpled the chiffon fabric of her dress; dark navy, while the brocade of her corset was threaded with glints of gold. To Miku, the atmosphere was tense. Not with hostility, but simply for the lack of words to say. Suddenly, something as precious as the remembrance of friendship nostalgia felt so tainted. Years, years, nine of them. Had she done something wrong? The silence suffocated her. It was like talking to a reflection in the mirror that differed so strangely from your own visage. Or a painting, or a memory gone bad; left to fester in some dark, cool alcove simply because it was treasured only by _one_. It must have been something horrible, to drive her way, to receive this… _punishment_. What else could it have been?

She suddenly startled. Her fault?

_Her fault?_

Something hard gripped the lines of her petite, slender form. Resentment flashed across like lightning, a burgeoning storm; defiance.

_Why?_

She straightened staunchly. No, absolutely not. She had every right and she would _not allow it_. All those years of withered time, her ink-spattered fingers callused as her eyes bled tears of desperation mingled with confusion. Was she not throne heiress? She should be assertive, definitive… She had every right!

"I think I should be able to address you in whatever form I wish," Miku replied back evenly, as her mercury grey eyes glittered. "It's been nearly a decade, Mayu! I haven't seen you for such a long time. We used to play here, don't you remember? We're―"

Realization gave a stinging slap.

_Friends?_

Her false courage deserted her and she was left temporarily gaping. Mayu watched her carefully, and something alien shifted over the color of her eyes like a shade. She spoke, and her voice was calm and cultured. "We _are _friends, Princess Miku," she leaned forward with a sweet smile on her face. It seemed false, so utterly foreign on so familiar a face, and Miku knew at once that her and Mayu's notion of 'friends' were much different.

_Friends… _She had been her only friend...

Inside, she could feel a hand reach around her heart and twist.

How many letters had she written? How many nights had she cried? She had even sought an audience with the King, her father, to plead for aid for her friend. Her father didn't see her, and Miku did not know what to feel as she put her head in Aria's lap while her handmaiden sung a sweet lullaby. Months passed, and then there was nothing but the monotonous stretch of days that slowly replaced such poignant desperation.

When she was but a child, she had wrapped her fingers around the window grilles, and tried to discern the world beyond fractured glass that refracted the light and made it iridescent. The Ivarnœn glass that stretched the high windows of Monarch Palace were multi-faceted, crystalline vitrics that brought the sunlight into the behemoth space. Greens intermingled with the clouded blue of the noon sky, but she knew that was merely the sight of the gardens. What else was out there, beyond the ink inscriptions of dusty books? Was it like Sweet Ann told; where there were lakes of diamond ice and fire, villages bustling with barbarian men and wicked women, where chances clashed with luck, and fate was a card that, while cruel, could be played?

Time passed. She used to fantasize as a child, and with Mayu gone, she fantasized once more. Mayu could walk out of the Imperial Gates. Miku could too, she so often told herself, and yet she couldn't. Which was a very good question. _Why couldn't she?_

She looked up at Mayu again. Refined, poised, _knowing_. She knew things Miku could never fathom, had experienced a life outside there.

"_Past the Imperial Gates?" She had asked with wide eyes, petals falling over her eyelashes. Miku laughed and hugged her friend. "You won't leave me, right? And I won't leave you too! So we'll go out, and we'll be the adventure girls!"_

Internally, something cut like jealousy. Or betrayal.

Or abandonment.

She looked away and bit her lip. She was being selfish. She was being unfair.

Miku pulled a pretty, small smile. It felt like pulling flesh forcefully from her own bones. "We _are _friends, Lady Mayu." She gave a cheery smile and popped a canelé into her mouth. "So please, speak. What have you been up to lately?"

Mayu gave a small, polite smile, as cold as her doll-like face. Tucked by her side, and propped on a small, almost unnoticeable chair, a stuffed toy bunny sat. It was old, patched and singed.

"Good work," Lady Mayu replied, her answer vague. She seemed more concerned with tea than actual conversation. Although perhaps, it was mindless talk she had no patience for.

Miku's smile merely brightened painfully as Lady Mayu begun to speak. It didn't matter. As always, she had to be the happy one, the one content, the one who said that 'Everything was alright'.

"Like what?"

Something flashed under the mild sunlight, and Miku's strange grey eyes were drawn to it curiously for a second. Pinned against black cloth on Lady Mayu's chest and cast in ornate silver glinted the sigil of the Holy Church.

"You know I now serve his Holiness," Mayu replied mildly, unsticking her sugared biscuit from its wrapper. Miku couldn't take it; at no further answer, she twisted the iridescent ring on her left hand agitatedly, but tried her best to keep her eyes on Mayu nevertheless. "I see, how… honorable…" Miku's voice drifted off in unsure thought.

She was uncertain how to proceed. The Church, yes, she knew a lot about the Church. Mayu worked for them now? Mayu's gaze narrowed infinitesimally, and she raised her tea cup to her lips wordlessly. Miku's eyes widened at her own implication and she shook her head hurriedly. "No, no, please. Ma- Lady Mayu, I meant no sarcasm, if that was what you thought. Tis' wonderful- _great _news. I merely… well, the _Church_, see―"

"The Church shall soon have a seat within this very palace, your majesty," Mayu interrupted primly. "Of course, as the Lady Green Queen, surely your thoughts must rest on the desires of your people? Most have taken up the holy sigil now."

Miku faltered. The Church? She knew they sent diplomats, missionaries, politicians and all manner of folk to the Palace everyday. Their people wandered the halls freely now, and it was a mark of change that perhaps half the court had pledged to them. Maybe it was true belief or the want for power, but it was all politics to Miku. And… she twisted the ring on her hand again. It was at times like these that she really wished _he _were here to comfort her, and give her direction like he always did.

"Of course my thoughts rest with the people," she spoke. They were rehearsed words, diplomatic, learned, taught, and then repeated. Miku swallowed. She… she was a terrible heiress. She was so _stupid_. Inexperienced, unwise, foolish, narrow-minded. She… _hated_ lying. Politics was never her forte.

Mayu's yellow eyes glimmered dully as they trained on her unwaveringly.

"I- I _do _believe in the kindness the Church has wrought for my people." _My people_. It felt odd on her tongue. She twisted her ring harder. "But I am concerned with… _heritage_, Lady Mayu. We are a nation crafted from sorcery, and the Church is very against practitioners of… _magic_." The last word was blurted out like accidentally ingested bitterness, slipping off her tongue like alkaline soap. A memory burned behind her eyes, of pink hair shorn short and lifeless eyes behind bars, too tortured to glare at her with seething hatred.

A blister was forming around her left ring finger. She felt her outer epidermis rupture, and quickly removed her right hand to stuff a canape down her throat.

"Magic?" Mayu echoed. Something pitch dark flitted across her eyes, twitching at the sides of her mouth. It seemed as if underneath that porcelain skin, there was something flexed and contorted- something nearly hideous.

That was when Miku had the sudden premonition that her once dear, sweet friend was _very capable_ of suddenly lunging across the table and ripping her throat out. This little doll-girl over a sea of blood; and she would probably feel no remorse. Miku choked, disguising it as a cough, as her hands latched self-consciously around her neck.

"For ages, magic has given some what they believe to be_ rights_ over us. This is a new age, where we are _all equal_." Miku's head snapped up, her grey eyes wide. Mayu's voice had gone all sugary _sweet_. It was as if a delicate white flower had been bent backwards, its petals forcefully unfurled from behind, and within its sweet nectar core was―

"I- I- I do not f-follow... " Miku stammered, as panic rose up within her. Something hard and blocky stuck in her throat, and no matter how much she swallowed, it would not go down. Her hands shook. Something was very wrong, and for some reason, her eyes darted to the stuffed bunny seated so innocently on the chair.

It looked twisted, suddenly gruesome― staring blankly at nothing with its maroon button eyes. Why on earth did Mayu bring that… thing with her?

Miku looked up. Her companion was grinning, her mouth stretched wider than a Cheshire cat's while her pretty dangling earrings flashed in the noon sun. They were yellow, the exact same shade of pyrite as her dull golden eyes. Something stretched out, expanded within those maize depths, like black ink dissolving. Suddenly, sweet could not be a description. Suddenly, Miku realized that of the Lady Mayu; she knew nothing at all.

She tried to swallow again.

"S-surely, Lady Mayu, but- but what… does the Church and the Path of Sorcery have to do with the- the… _equality_… I do- do not understand_-_" She pressed herself against the back of her chair, her eyes trained on the now cruel, dark gaze of the little doll-girl opposite her. She―

A figure rustled next to her, and one hand was placed placatingly on her shoulder. Aria's face appeared, looking gently concerned. "Is the Princess alright?" She asked in her foreign, violin-like accent. Miku looked up at her, her mouth agape in shock. Her face turned to and fro from her companion back to her handmaiden, before repeating. Her mouth flapped, and her eyes were wide.

"I- I-"

"Please, Aria," Lady Mayu's voice was cordial but sharp. Her fair, little fingers smoothed the ruffles of her black dress before taking her time to look up. "Do you not see that the Princess Miku and I are having a highly intense conversation? Kindly, do not interrupt." She flashed a little saccharine smile at the end and Aria flinched back, properly chided. She bowed her head and murmured apologetically, but her fingers squeezed Miku's shoulder before retreating.

"Now, where... were we? Oh, Princess Miku!" Mayu giggled, bringing her gloved hands to cover her lips. It was an abrupt change from the leaking tenebrosity in her demeanour; as if a curtain had been shuttered over a cavernous hollow and Miku was now left blinking at the spotlights. "I've been eyeing the lovely ring on your hand ever since we started talking!" She had a cheery, sweet smile on her adorable face, with her head tilted slightly to the side. Miku could only stare and grip the sides of her chair.

"Such a beautiful, precious metal. Bismuth crystal¹, am I correct?" Miku's eyes jumped to the zig-zagging ring spiraling around her left ring finger. It gleamed and flashed, before she self-consciously covered it.

"Yes," she replied weakly, now completely lost. Mayu's sweet smile widened further; she looked genuinely happy― her fair skin glowed. "Congratulations on your betrothal. When will you be wed?"

Wed? Against her own volition, Miku's heart gave a strange wrench and she swallowed again. Yes, she would be a wife to him when she reached the age of nineteen in a year's time. Two years ago, she would have wanted it more than anything: to be by his side with his enigma― his mystery, his wondrous warmth that was secret to all but her. The times he'd spent with her under the sakura tree, teaching little things like the shade of the seasons or poetry…

She bit her lip. Now all she could see was a haunted face and pink hair behind bars.

"_Seduction by sorcery," the minister had murmured as he placed a hand on her petite shoulder. "I'm sure Her Majesty would be glad to see this one burn."_

_She could only stare. And stare._

_No. _

_No. She wouldn't. _

Miku took in a deep breath and to her surprise, it stuttered and she felt herself choke. Blinking her eyes quickly warned her that they were brimming and Miku quickly stood up, chiffon skirts flowing downwards. Her sight swarmed with blurry vision. It was too much for her, everything was too much. This little doll-girl's newfound darkness, the memento of a man she loved, the memory of a―

Everybody, everybody always walked past those gates. What was outside? What could be out there? _What on earth was outside? _What made them come back so changed? What was it? _What was it?_

_I can't― I can't―_

"My apologies, Lady Mayu," she barely managed to enunciate. "If you do not mind, I am -" She took in a deep breath. "- not feeling well right now."

_I can't do this._

…

"_We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be."_

…

The hooded man surged forward, and so did his three assailants at the same time. The slippery rank layer of sordid filth on the alley floor threatened to leave him skidding, but he used that to his advantage as he flew underneath a speeding blade. His hand shot out, catching assailant #1 by his throat. Assailant #2 aimed for his unguarded back, and so in one fluid motion, he used his momentum to swing the first assailant around and slam colleague into colleague.

A sword came crashing down on his left, and he almost winced at the closeness of it.

Quick as lightning, his own blade flicked out, and like slicing into melting butter, assailant #3's throat was slashed before he even had time to raise his sword. A thin chain was whipped out, the delicate craft of it deceived to be a fine jewellery chain, but the hooded man swung it skillfully around the neck of assailant #1 and looped it over the horizontal pole of a overhanging sign, before yanking it harshly downwards.

Assailant #1's body was lifted, and he gagged sickeningly as the thin metal cut into his adam's apple.

Assailant #2 dashed forwards, and that was when the hooded man man twirled and wrapped the long end of his chain around the last attacker's throat, criss-crossing it at the nape of the man's neck. The man hissed as the chain dug into his windpipe and he clawed at it, while his colleague kicked in his death throes above him. Blood dripped from up high, and eventually the hanged man loosened his sliced fingers from his neck as the wiry metal severed all but his spine from his head.

The last man gagged and sputtered, but his teeth was bared in a desperate malice.

"Kill me," he spat, his own fingers slippery with blood as he foolishly struggled to prolong the chain from cleaving his neck in two. Behind him, the hooded man's wiry limbs belied calm, deadly strength as his long, scarred fingers tugged the ends of the chain towards him.

"Who sent you?" The hooded man asked coldly. Under a black cowl, pale blue eyes shimmered like glacial pools of water.

That was when the man grinned, and he gave a guttural laugh. One that gurgled with blood and desperate spite. "You," he wheezed, "already know, d- don't you? We've been... ch- chasing you f… for _years_ now." His words were punctured with watery rasps, and soon his mouth was slick with froth. "How long do y-you... th-think you can escape?"

There was a pause as the hooded man regarded him with an almost miffed indifference.

"Long enough." And the man's throat splintered with a hideous crunch.

Len, with his hood still up, barely moved as he regained his normal pace of breathing. It was a mark of skill that he was completely still, but his jaw did clench with withheld fury, and something monstrously violent still lingered in the blackness of his face.

Another crunch sounded, this time coming from the entrance to the alley. He slunk away into the inkwells of shadow. The hanging body above swung gently, and the heady scent of the growing blood pool was cloying.

Wood creaked as another crunch was heard. A slight figure put another foot forward before stopping warily― but she placed an arm beneath her chest nevertheless, while the other arm dangled large, dangerous-looking hooks over her shoulder. The light within the alley was horrendously dim, but it illuminated the lime greenness of her hair, the cocoa color of her eyes.

Above, the body moved gently, like a grey-cloaked ghost; limp and dead. Her eyes settled immediately on the gory sight: blood splatters across the dirty walls, and bits of flesh and other human matter mingling with the filth. Horror and disgust flashed across her face― it was temporary, although it still lingered as she turned her gaze away to the side.

"Holy Helios, Len."

Len emerged, his hood still up. "Can't blame me, Gumi," he answered easily. His gloved hands were dark with blood, and miniscule droplets were visible on his face. He bent down to wipe his gloves on the cloak of one of the corpses, while Gumi's eyes eventually flitted to the swaying body above. They examined the glinting chain with ease, before she shifted the hooks over her shoulder to a more comfortable position.

"Well, at least I'm glad to see my make still holds," she mumbled to herself before turning away. Len wiped his face, his visage expressionless as he followed her out of the alley.

"They should. I would have been extremely upset if they didn't," he answered her. Gumi snorted, not looking into his face. She was short, almost stumpy perhaps, but reasonably attractive with her foreign Internaticco facial structure. Bright green hair the color of leaves was cut short and spiky near her chin, although it was tied in a half-ponytail while two long locks at the sides of her tanned face reached her small breasts. Dried blood was smeared on the dirty whiteness of her apron, and her gloves were extremely large and tough.

"Oh, really, Len? What would you have done?" Her eyes slid over to his face slyly, a smirk playing on her lips. "Kill me?"

"No," he answered dryly. "I would have asked for a refund."

Gumi sniggered and shifted the hooks on her back again. They were large, nasty-looking meat hooks, and dug into her back. Still, she seemed fairly used to the discomfort as they swung behind her short stature while she moved. Len continued walking with her even though he had no real reason to. Like Kaito, Gumi was another close acquaintance. They had known each other for numerous years and she could (perhaps) count as one of his Underground contacts.

On the days she didn't smell like dead beef, at least.

"How did you know I was in that alley?" Len started casually. Gumi shrugged. "Coincidence, I think. I was doing deliveries through Plantates district when I spotted your hooded self slip past and go down that alley. I did my deliveries and thought I'd pop by and say hi to whatever strangeness you've been up to lately." Gumi edged a glance towards him, and gave another derisive snort. "But you already know that, don't you? You little brat. I know no one sees you unless you want them too. You led me there." Her tone was not accusatory, but rather amused.

Len did not answer her, but a rare lift of his cheeks showed before vanishing immediately. His hood was still up, but in a way so that it covered the sunbeams of his bright hair and not the cold shade of his face. His companion studied his appearance closely― it had been approximately three months since she saw him last. Years lurking in pitch blackness with that damnable hood over his face made Len's skin a blank white, while his eyes were dreadfully cold. Oh, and he had a new scar fading on the curve of his chin. Len reminded her of Kaito sometimes, did she ever tell him that? Gumi wondered. They possessed the same self-assurance, and their presence was manipulatable by their unpredictable persona. Dangerous people, but god forbid she'd ever tell them that.

Dumbasses. As if their ego needed further swelling. She pictured Kaito's sly smile.

The road beyond them was uneven, and her short stature seemed to make the journey all the more excruciating, as her shorter legs struggled to keep up with Len's lanky strides. Furthermore, she was carrying _bleeding hooks_, for gods' sake. She stopped abruptly and moved to stand in front of him, looking past the shade of his cowl and into those glacial blue eyes. Her mouth was thin and indignant, but inside, a thought casually wandered across her mind if Len would give thought to kill her off if he ever deemed her useless...

She quickly shut that thought down as she shoved the large meat hooks into his gloved hands. She didn't like to think about it, even though they were in the same industry. Those hooks were heavy and long and Len needn't be so bloody useless.

His blue eyes did not widen nor change, but stared down unimpressively instead. Meanwhile, Gumi ignored him as she tore her large gloves off her hands and shoved them into the front pocket of her apron. She smelled like pork and dried beef; which had been exactly what she had been delivering. Her trade was her former husband's: butchery― and some tidbits from a hobby.

"Be a gentleman and help a lady," she said archly. Len shot her a small glare before begrudgingly hefting them over his back, used to this routine. She gave a relieved sigh as she tugged on her hairband, finally letting her short hair loose. Now relaxed, she started talking mindlessly. "Bloody deliveries. Glad I only make them once a week. Have you heard that they're conducting another burning?"

Len did not answer her one-sided question, but Gumi was used to it and plowed on mercilessly anyway. She spoke about everything she could get her mind on. Should she repaint her shop? Did he think she needed a new haircut? Clan Mew's daughter apparently ran off with a farmer's lad, had he heard about that? Also, the burnings.

"I swear, with all the ashes they're piling on the stones, you'd think they'd start scraping the blood off." She heaved a loud, dramatic sigh before spotting and tsking at the grime on her fingers.

"They'd ought to shift those burnings elsewhere, really," she said with blank honesty as she nonchalantly wiped her hands on Len's dark vest. He nearly made a noise of protest and shrunk away from her outstretched fingers. She shot him a stern, whiny look. He ignored her. She jumped forward to latch onto his still upward hood. He sidestepped her.

He could not help but admit that he felt slightly annoyed. You couldn't talk about the burnings nowadays if you didn't want the Church knuckle-rapping your door with guards trailing behind. He had enough trouble as it was and he did not need Gumi's effervescent mouth drawing in curious attention. Curiosity killed the cat, but Len found it troublesome to avoid the blood spill afterwards.

The streets were busy as always, but not uncomfortably so. She stretched and spoke endlessly while leading forwards, with Len reduced to her temporary errand boy trailing behind. Honestly, he thought dryly, sometimes he humored her a bit too much. Still, maybe he could be indulgent. And he liked Gumi anyway, enough to maintain a relationship. It was not the first time they were doing this, and soon, they had arrived within sight of Gumi's little butcher shop.

"That reminds me, handsome." Gumi's voice turned serious and trailed off. "You aren't staying at… wherever you were staying anymore, are you?"

He had not told her where he lived. As much as he liked her, favor did not discount expendability. His business ethics could be cold like that. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously in response, but he already had his own ideas and spoke them aloud. "Did Yuzuki Yukari tell you that?"

Gumi threw him a hard look. She was not ladylike, surprisingly for one from a country notorious for its almost tribal conservancy, and now her answer tumbled out from her mouth like a mudslide. "_Of course _she did, you dickhead. I rack up an elephant's stampede in the basement all the time, and you do know I'm her lovely, cherished _neighbour_."

Len gave a negligible sigh. His eyes moved to the left of Gumi's butchery, and sure enough, his current temporary residence with the words 'Crescent Hare' blazed above in curly ink. He suppressed his rising irritation before dodging the last remnants of the crowd and pushing into Gumi's shop. Gumi followed, rolling her eyes.

"Don't blame Yukari, you little stiff-board," she said. "She was very diligent in not giving you away and everything, but Kaito was visiting -" Her mouth turned downwards bitterly. "- and somehow or another, he _knew _-"

_That bastard. Why wasn't he surprised?_

"- that you were currently homeless. Yukari was very upset, I'd have you know, and Kaito was boasting about putting two and two together and― where are you going?"

Len pivoted on his foot to face her from where he stood at the doorway."I'm entering your basement to borrow some weapons. And then I'm going to kill him."

Gumi paused. Ah, a rare show of humor. Did the sun sink into the sea or something, because Len _did not _do that. Still, she shrugged.

"Oh. Well, don't take anything from the fourth shelf."

He said nothing in reply, his face emotionless. A thought occurred to him and he swiveled to face her. A frown touched his usually blank face, crinkling the skin between his eyebrows. "Couldn't you have silenced Kaito?"

"Silenced Kai-" Gumi echoed before giving out an angry huff and folding her arms. Something petty shone in her cocoa orbs as she flipped a green lock away from her face. "Excuse me, am I supposed to be his keeper? And what kind of wording is that?" She added as an snarky afterthought. "'Silenced'. And how did you expect me to go about it? Whip out a knife and carve swear words into His Fabulousnessness face?"

Len was already descending the stairs, and so his last words were muffled by shadow.

"Oh, I dunno. Kissed him?"

Gumi gasped. "_Len!_"

…

"_We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be."_

…

Gumi huffed an exhausted sigh before taking a deep breath and heaving out her darlings. Either they were heavy, or she was weak and bony. Whatever, she didn't care. Either way, these babies needed to move from _here_ to _there _so―

"_Will you stop standing there and fucking help me?_"

The Great Asshole in Black slouched in a corner with his chin propped casually on his palm, while his blue eyes shimmered mysteriously even in this sweaty dark. Gumi wondered if she would ever be fast enough to dart to the furnace, grab a poker and spear it into those bright, watchful eyes.

It was a laughable idea she liked to entertain.

Len chose not to answer, merely lounging lazily against the dark-bricked wall as he watched her from the shadows. It was creepy, and not to mention _rude_. She retaliated by grabbing whatever loose bits she had scattered around the floor and tossing it at his face. It was scrap metal, and to no one's surprise, Len shifted casually just in time for it to clatter noisily against the wall beside his cheek. Gumi huffed in response and turned back with a petty flourish.

"I cannot believe I'm entertaining you," she muttered as she quickly tied thick ropes around the canvas-covered bundles. Dark iron poked out from one of them, and it was sharp and smithed to be deadly. As she pulled back from her task, beads of perspiration ran down her forehead. She wiped them away, smearing her face with what she knew to be thick smudges of black ash and dirt.

A flash of bright yellow appeared at the corner of her periphery. Len knelt beside her, gloved fingers feathering over the sheathed weapons. Uncaringly, she aimed a kick at his head which he stopped with a mere two fingers. A growl wriggled at the back of her throat, but she let it go.

"To the Bazaar, to the Bazaar," she hummed under her breath.

"_To the market, to the market, to the city down below._

_Where thief walks hand in hand with the murderer in shadow._

_Oh my lovers, and oh my darlings _

_What blade that bleeds shall we get?_

_Down in the city, to the city, to the putrid Black Bazaar._

_Here there is no candle_

_To light your way ahead_

_Only a whisper_

_As off goes your head."_

It was an old tune known by many who dealt the same as them. Gumi mumbled the song tunelessly as she bustled about, attaching ropes and chains before lifting her cargo onto a wheelbarrow. She piled rotten carcasses onto the wrapped weapons, covering them with stinking flesh. Len wiped his hands wordlessly and followed her.

The stench was strong, hovering about them like a cloud of repugnant filth. People, guards, merchants steered clear of them, unwilling to rifle through what was clearly, to _them_, at least, a butcher heading to the outhouses to dispose of meat clearly gone bad: a donation to the fertiliser houses before dispensing off to the farmlands. Len had disappeared, but she felt that he was nearby, shadowing her like a haunting ghost.

And she was right. As she stood at the edge of the Doorway, she turned around only to shriek at the sight of him so close to her. She glared and swatted at him, before she tugged at the rope, brows furrowing, and descended. As she went further downwards, the wind whistled through the cracks in rocks, its cadence eerie and silent. That was when she knew she had reached the underground.

The Black Bazaar.

During the age before Cryptonia, the land was ruled by tribes and clans. A great tribe built a subterranean city below the surface. Tunnels and caves honeycombed the granite rock; the only light available flickered dimly in hollow slots. To reach the behemoth of the Black Bazaar took at least a half an hour's walk, something she did not particularly relish in. Still, Gumi took pride in the curves and niches of every scimitar, mechanical crossbow, and sharpened blade her blacksmith hands wrought. Yes― smithing was her true passion. Butchering had been her husband's, and while she did detest that despicable man, she did admit the art of carving flesh had its advantages in the… other services she provided. To murderers like Len.

Beside her, Len glided along. It was terrible, really, thought Gumi. It was like having a ghost for company; a dead person. The Black Bazaar was haunted. Everyone knew that, and so when Len moved like that alongside her, clad in black and absorbed by the darkness of the tunnels nonetheless; she couldn't help but be severely spooked.

And nagged at him.

"For _fuck's _sake," she spat edgily. "Walk like a normal human, please. Or pull this damn cart for me. I'm tiny, you know." Len threw her a look, one which she promptly dismissed. Not _her _fucking fault she was a weirdo.

"The transport system is only a hundred metres away."

"Like I care!" she nearly screeched. It pissed her off more than anything when people thought she was stupid. She _knew that_! "Use. Your. _Legs_," she said, stomping her feet for emphasis as she walked. "It's bad luck, this place," she snapped. Even though she had resided in Cryptonia for decades, the superstitious mindset of the Internaticco still stuck. "I don't you need you making me pee in my pants. I―"

Something howled past them, a hollow moan that dragged across the dark tunnels. It was nearly pitch black, and she could not see the walls in some places. Gumi gritted her teeth.

"I hate this place."

* * *

_Sorry I had to cut this chapter short, but I swear to kami-sama, I got so tired of rewriting this so many times before slapping myself in the face when I realized what went really wrong. _

_I'll be working on the chapter outlines to make this story more concrete and substantial. So I've been looking through the next chapter outlines, and I'm pretty happy with what's coming up next. I swear to try my best to make the next chapter interesting. Its the least I can do for all you wonderful readers and those who have reviewed. _

**[1]Bismuth crystal: **Relative atomic mass of 83, Bismuth is a pentavalent post-transition metal, although it can (easily) be grown in DIY style. It has a spiral, stair-stepped structure due to a higher growth rate around the outside edges than on the inside edges. The variations in the thickness of the oxide layer that forms on the surface of the crystal causes different wavelengths of light to interfere upon reflection, thus displaying a rainbow of colors. It is mildly radioactive.


End file.
